


i guess you could say this fic is pretty /campy/

by diceyGambit



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AND I MEAN SLOW BURN HOLY SHIT, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, F/M, Slow Burn, Summer Camp, Trans Karkat Vantas, Trans Male Character, just like one of my romcoms, this has lots of swearing so sorry, this is very self indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-30
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-04-12 00:21:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4458125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diceyGambit/pseuds/diceyGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was hot as <em>fuck</em> outside. Not just “mild perspiration” hot. Not “I need to reapply deodorant” hot. Not even “throw me a goddamn towel, I’m drenched” hot. It was “fuck me, I’m going to drown in my own sweat, then someone will boil my dead carcass because I’m so fucking sunburned I could be mistaken for a lobster” hot.</p>
<p>And you <em>loved</em> it.</p>
<p>Mainly because it gave you an excuse to complain even louder than you usually did, but what does that matter <em>when it’s fucking summertime</em>? No cranky-ass teachers or gym locker rooms filled with the worst possible combination of pubescent hormones, truly rank gym clothes (<em>sure</em>, Gamzee, you totally wash those every week), and what smelled like piss mixed with cleaning products (but was probably Axe). No scrambling to remember what assignments you forgot to remember to claim that you forgot about, and certainly no <em>teenage fucking angst. </em></p>
<p> </p>
<p>-</p>
<p>Karkat goes to camp and eventually ends up with Terezi, mainly because I am <em>personally offended</em> that it seems like Karezi won't be endgame.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Call Shot to the Nuts / This Court is a Fraud! A Sham!

**Author's Note:**

> what can I say, I like puns.
> 
> first draft & it's 12:36 am.

It was hot as _fuck_ outside. Not just “mild perspiration” hot. Not “I need to reapply deodorant” hot. Not even “throw me a goddamn towel, I’m drenched” hot. It was “fuck me, I’m going to drown in my own sweat, then someone will boil my dead carcass because I’m so fucking sunburned I could be mistaken for a lobster” hot.

And you _loved_ it.

Mainly because it gave you an excuse to complain even louder than you usually did, but what does that matter _when it’s fucking summertime_? No cranky-ass teachers or gym locker rooms filled with the worst possible combination of pubescent hormones, truly rank gym clothes ( _sure_ , Gamzee, you totally wash those every week), and what smelled like piss mixed with cleaning products (but was probably Axe). No scrambling to remember what assignments you forgot to remember to claim that you forgot about, and certainly no _teenage fucking angst._

Your name is Karkat Vantas, although no one will ever let you forget how at freshman orientation you introduced yourself as “your fucking God, you piece of shit”. Past you is such a cringe worthy dumbass. Thankfully, now that your junior year is over, you can finally move past being an embarrassing fucker and finally ascend to the ranks of the mature and respected. No one fucks with seniors. _No one._ You’re honestly quite relieved that, because you’re a senior and essentially a god (for real this time), there’s not a snowball’s chance in Satan’s fiery asshole that you’d do anything even remotely embarrassing or cringe worthy this year. 

Yep. No chance of that happening _at all._ Especially since this summer you planned on doing precisely jack shit. Classes were given marginally more effort this past school year than any other - all to ensure that no bullshit summer classes had to be taken. Nothing in this pitiful existence could distract you from your sacred fucking mission of sleeping in until three pm and playing through _Dragon Age II_ for probably the 600th time. Nothing. _Godspeed, Karkat Vantas, and may the Maker go with you._

…

What?

You play it for the excessive violence. That’s it!!

Fuck it. You’re a filthy fucking RPG nut, and you love how much it hurts to romance Anders. It hurts so good. However, as much as you love _fictional_ romantic angst, you sure as shit don’t want to have real life relationship drama any time soon. Thankfully, because you’re not _doing something of note_ , and because there’s not going to be _romcom-esque shenanigans_ , there is absolutely a 0% chance of you experiencing any _teenage lovesick angst._

You had been ~~dicking around~~ idly swinging on the old swingset in your backyard, but all that inner monologuing made you awfully thirsty. You were almost done ~~extricating yourself from the tangled mess you made of the swings~~ exiting gracefully when your Dad yelled something from the kitchen.

“ _What_ , Dad?”

You sensed rather than heard his fatherly sigh. “I said that I signed you up for a summer camp next month.”

What?

“ _Summer camp_?” Your left hand grasped at the wooden fort section of the set, your right holding the twisted ropes of the swings.

“Yes, Karkat. You’ve spent too much time indoors lately.” You would've pointed out that you're _literally outside right now_ , but your grip on the ropes was rapidly decreasing. 

Both legs are on one seat as the swings begin to unravel themselves. “ _For a month_?!”

“It’s for kids your age. Lots of activities,”

You get hit square in the crotch by the swing before you can curse out your father.

\-------------

It was hot as _fuck_ outside. If any color could describe this heat, it would definitely be fire engine red. The fire engine would be necessary because something had to have spontaneously burst into flame as a result of how completely, over-the-top hot it was. Or maybe it’d be necessary to spray thousands of citizens with water, thereby preventing the mass exodus of souls from this mortal plane into the next. Maybe it was just there because it’s red, and red is simply the best.

Unfortunately, there was no hypothetical fire truck. There was only a dingy turquoise minivan carting your family and collective belongings to a random town in the Midwest of the grand ol’ US of A. The road trip was, regrettably, very real and not at all a daydream to distract from the fact that probably all of your crayons had fused together in one horrible rainbow orgy. This multicolored abomination had, in fact, been one of your key arguments in the case of _Pyrope v. Pyrope #311_ , aka _“Mom Please Don’t Make Us Move to Fucking Missouri”_.

“Argument one,” you began, pacing the ~~living~~ Courtroom with all the confidence of a practiced legislator. “It’ll be hella hot there, and Pyralsprite is too old to survive that kind of heat. His death will lead to my own downward spiral, eventually resulting in dropping out of school, joining the circus, and getting murdered by a clown in a drug deal gone bad. ” Your faithful hound smiled up at you at the sound of his name, tongue hanging out of his mouth. 

Your mother grinned down at you, eyeglasses perched on her nose. “Pyralspite will be three this year, honey. Try again.”

“Argument two. It’ll be hella hot there, and my crayons will fuse in a disgusting, incestuous slurry. The loss of my faithful art supplies results in me working the street in a desperate attempt to raise enough funds to buy back all the colors I’ve lost. Eventually, my pimp gets tired of me and starts looking for any excuse he can to… terminate my contract. I start dating a loveable asshole, but the relationship turns sour because of my intimacy issues. My pimp learns I’ve been taking a ‘side job’, and in a fit of rage murders us both in the middle of a heart wrenching reunion while bowling.”

“You get an allowance, Terezi. And if you become a sex worker before eightteen,” she grinned, creepy and intimidating but charming at the same time (you’ve been copying it for years). “I will be very, very disappointed in you.”

You sighed dramatically, but smiled internally.

“Argument three. After moving to _Fuckingnowheresville_ , Missouri, and attending this ‘summer camp’, it is quite possible that I will meet a charming, but crude, teenage boy and somehow immediately fall head over heels for him. We will make out in abandoned cabins and do naughty things in the woods, like smoking cigarette butts and drinking shitty beer smuggled in by the camp counselors. After a falling out regarding something trivial that could easily be solved just by talking, he wins back my heart in a dramatic way and we go on to get married and have dozens of terrifying hellspawn.”

Your mother rolled her eyes then continued to work on her crossword puzzle on the couch. “You just described some kind of terribly cliche romantic comedy. If that’s the worst that could happen from moving to Prospit, Missouri, which is only a half hour from a major city, then I suppose I’ll just have to live with that consequence dear. I’m afraid that the Judge has spoken, and the senior Pyrope has won this case.”

You grinned, then, a smile much sharper than your mother’s. You stroked Pyralspite’s proud head as your genius scheme was revealed. 

“You may have won the _case_ , Mother dearest, but _I_ just earned twenty bucks and a cherry lollipop.”

“How so?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “Latula paid me to distract you so she could sneak out and shove her tongue down Mituna’s throat,”

“Fuck! That sneaky little shit. Who even raised that kid?”

“You did that. It was you, dumbass.”

Your mother laughed like bells, or a flute or...bassoon? (Your’s sounded like the clash of steel, no matter how much you practiced.) “Your sister won’t appreciate you telling on her. And doesn’t this violate whatever cute little contract you made with her?”

“First, I’m seventeen. I don’t do ‘cute’ things anymore,” you huffed. “And Latula never reads fine print. All I had to do was provide a distraction. She didn’t remember to include a nondisclosure agreement.”

“Damn, I really am a bad parent if she doesn’t even know how to do that, aren’t I?” she stood up, grabbed the keys from the hook in the kitchen and started heading to the door. Courtroom shenanigans and joking aside, you could tell your mother really was worried that she wasn’t a good enough parent to keep track of her kids. Reading people is an important skill for any future lawyer.

So you stood up, walked over, and hugged her.

“I think you’re great, Mom,”

Her mouth hung open for a second before she hugged you back. You pretended not to notice the water pooling in her eyes.

For once, you don’t curse in front of your mother.


	2. i can totally seduce any homophobe with that roll!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> somehow this became 1k words?

Gravel crunched under the tires of your dad’s van as you pulled past a sign that read _Welcome to Camp Sgrub! ...In a Few Miles!_ in a font suspiciously similar to comic sans. Alongside the text was some kind of creature that you guessed was originally supposed to be a squirrel, but was so heavily vandalized that it looked more like some kind of demonic bear surrounded by flying, winged hotdogs. Or maybe they were dicks. Oh, the mysteries of phallic graffiti. There were also some remarks written on it in sharpie, from what you could tell as you raced by the sign at a whopping fifteen miles per hour. Sadly, your dad didn’t let you stop and read them. You even claimed wanting to take a souvenir photo by it, but you received only a Fatherly Look™. He probably suspected you’d take the opportunity to make a break for it, but where the hell would you go? You’d been driving through the woods for like ~~two~~ ten hours. Mainly because your father refused to go above twenty at the best of times, and drove at a simply mind-bogglingly slow _ten miles per fucking hour_ at the worst of times.

If _you’d_ been driving, the car would not drop below thirty. Unsurprisingly, you, Karkat Vantas, had almost no patience. Things going at a slow pace drove you _fucking bonkers_. It’s one thing to have a slow buildup in a movie to build up dramatic tension, but in real life you just want things to fucking happen already, holy shit. If you’re going to have your heart give out at fifty like your ~~best friend~~ associate Kanaya insisted, you were gonna get your goddamn money’s worth out of this pitiful existence. And if that meant driving like an asshole, you reasoned that you were an asshole _anyway_ , so you might as well be one on the road too.

But it wasn’t the time to contemplate your future health issues, or constant speeding. There was an actual, very pressing issue you had with going to summer camp for _thirty fucking days_ that your dad had apparently managed to overlook, despite being _a huge fucking deal_.

You stared out at the trees, arms crossed across your black tshirt. Between your dark skin, black hair, and grayscale clothes, you might as well have been one with the passenger’s seat. You were the shitty cloth seat. It was you.

“Dad,” you started, focusing on making sure your voice didn’t break like it did when you were nervous (which you weren’t, thank you very fucking much, you were always as cool as a _goddamn cucumber_ ).

“Yes, Karkat?” He kept his hands at two and ten on the wheel, head held constantly to the road, but his eyes flicked to you nonetheless.

“I have accepted the fact that you’re forcing me to go to _summer camp_ , even though I am seventeen, and I’ll hate you for it forever, yada yada yada, I’ll do you the favor of sparing your ears from my righteous rage again.” You paused. “But it’s going to be really hard to be stealth when I’m in a cabin with other guys. I can’t sleep in my binder.”

His mouth pulled up into the smile that meant _I am the best dad. It’s me._ “Actually, Camp Sgrub’s really accepting of LGBT plus stuff,”

You glanced over at him, and your brows unfurrowed just the slightest. 

“And I know you want to be stealth here, kiddo, so I talked to the counselors about it. They don’t allow campers to have a cabin to themselves…”  
You felt your heart plummet so far down your chest that the slightest fart would have it fly out of your ass, like a horrible bloody turd from the depths of hell. 

“But there _are_ two other young men that are trans and want to be stealth, so you three will share a cabin,” he continued. Your heart returned to its normal position. Maybe even a little higher. You’d mentioned to your dad that it was hard not to have any real life friends that were trans, and sure enough he had worked his fatherly wiles to make this dream of friendship a reality.

Your dad is basically the best goddamn dad in the history of the earth, end of story. 

He turned the wheel slightly as the curved. “And your shots will be done by the counselor I talked with over the phone. I think he said he was transgender, but he had a very… er… colorful vocabulary.”

At this point, your mouth was agape and you stared at your father with love and admiration. Somehow, some _fucking_ how, the Gods had decided that you deserved the best parental unit to ever grace the universe with his presence. This man, this _paragon_ , just gave you not only two potential best bros for life, but a man who has walked the path you intend to, and whom you might even learn more swears from. This day just went from _Star Wars: Episode One_ to _Starship Troopers_. That is to say, from _completely fucking unbearable_ to _completely fucking awesome_. 

“If you weren’t driving right now, I would hug the shh… the _shoes_ right off of you, Dad,” You said, laughing slightly out of relief. “But a bit of a heads up would’ve been nice, y’know. A casual, ‘ _by the way, Karkat my son, you don’t need to flip the fu- the furniture over worrying about being outed.'_ would’ve been real swell!”

He frowned slightly. “I’m sorry. I should’ve talked to you about it.”

An awkward silence fell over the two of you like your grades usually did second semester. You moved your feet nervously, rubbing the bottoms of your sneakers against each other. 

Finally, your love for your parental unit won out. “...But really, thanks, Dad.”

You’ve always loved his smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so school is starting for me tomorrow. junior year. mmhmmm. so pumped.
> 
> anyways i honestly have no idea how this will effect how often i write, so sorry about that in advance if updates come sparingly.
> 
> and side note, not trying to say that being trans is this huge, earth-shattering thing, but it _is_ something karkat would be insanely worried about. hes kind of a nervous nelly.
> 
> as before, feedback is greatly appreciated! i know i tend to ramble on a bit sometimes, but that'll be easier to reign in once there are other characters and not just karkat and terezi monologing to themselves constantly.
> 
> did i manage to put indents in the previous chapter? if so, howwww did i do that? .-.


	3. he... certainly makes an impression

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> karkat fucks up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aight so its literally midnight and mmmm im not proofreadin this yet so please take with a grain of salt  
> i mean ill check over it later im not bein lazy but like it been a while so here ya go

The car ride from your new house to Camp Sgrub was a marked improvement from the ordeal that was the road trip to your new residency. It was unknown to you how exactly your older sister Latula was going to survive on her own, since she’d decided to stay at her college in your home state. You were pretty sure that she and Mituna would have a diet that consisted almost entirely of Doritos, Mountain Dew, and whatever shitty fast food they could manage to find that had vegetarian options. 

 

Not that you were going to be getting much better in the way of nutrition, what with going off to summer camp pretty much right after arriving in ~~Hellhole~~ Prospit, Missouri. You fully expected Camp Sgrub’s food to be beyond shitty, but you were willing to make that sacrifice for the sake of meeting your longtime Internet friend, “adventurersGambit”, aka one Vriska Serket. She had told you the camp was perfect for her because she was (and continues to be) _“as straight as a bendy straw, Pyrope.”_ (You had read many a tale spun by Vriska that involved her various romantic exploits involving persons spanning the gender spectrum.)

Being an _ace_ attorney yourself, you thought that Camp Sgrub would be the perfect opportunity to finally make some friends that could understand that aspect of yourself. Okay, summer camp would be the perfect opportunity to make some friends in general that weren’t your sister or any of her numerous, shitty friends. Mituna was fine, but some of the others were just colossal douche canoes. Their ships of assholery were so large that they rivaled those of the United States’ proud Navy. Send those massive canoes of douchebaggery off to battle, and they’ll win you the _goddamn war_.

Speaking of canoes, or, er, reading of them, your mother said something that was related to canoes! But you weren’t paying attention.

“Sorry Mom, what was that?” 

“We just drove by the lake. Now it’s just a slight left -”

Or a sudden ninety degree turn, but, y’know, whatevs.

“And here we are!”

You heard the unmistakable, if slightly muffled, sound of a large congregation of teenagers. The shrieks of reunited friends, the groans of seeing _that dickhole_ again, the _ooohs_ that can only come from seeing a particularly choice piece of ass. Of course, _you_ wouldn’t be able to see any particularly choice pieces of ass. You’re blind, remember?

But even a blind girl could detect the subtle odor in the air as she exited the car with the help of her mother, ~~guide dog~~ vicious warhound in tow. Was it, perchance, Axe deodorant? Sweat and cheap booze hidden in duffel bags, mayhap? Nay. It smelled, most assuredly, like teen spirit.

Your mother coughed slightly in front of you, and your head snapped back to where she was standing, a few feet in front of you.

“Alright, we’re going to walk around the camp for a bit, while all the other kids are getting their cabins, so you can learn your way around. Just hold my hand, and- “

You immediately launched your head backwards. “Uuuugggh, _Moommm_ , I’m not a _baby_.”

There was a slight pause that meant her lips were pressing against each other tightly. You could still remember what that looked like, then. “No, you’re just a blind girl who’s going to indulge her mother.”

She took the hand that wasn’t holding your cane, then started pulling you after her. You mother’s nails used to be long and manicured, and you could feel the rounded edges of them digging into your palm when she held your hand. Now her nails were bitten down. You didn’t like to think about it.

Unsurprisingly, you tried to get away from her after walking only slightly over forty feet. 

“Stop wriggling your hand, dear.” 

You stuck out your tongue in what you thought was her direction. “I’ll wriggle all I   
want!” She laughed, and her ironlike vice on your loosened up for just a moment. 

Of course, because your life had apparently chosen the shitty romcom option, it was at that moment that something - some _one_ crashed straight into your hands, completely severing your hold on your mother. A crash followed, along with an extremely stoic, reserved cry of “ _Fuck me!_ Who told these assholes this shit was asphalt?! They must’ve installed a goddamn _cheese grater_ by mistake, holy shit my knee is _shredded_ , fu- “ 

Your (accidental) victim’s rant was cut off by your own laughter. You nearly doubled over - a cheese grater? Who the hell talks like that? But, oh shit, you could hear the ruffle of clothing moving up, and then someone drew in a deep breath _right by your face_.

“What the _fuck_? _Who_ the fuck? First you’re playing goddamn Red Rover in the middle of the fucking pathway like a tool, but then you start _cackling_ at my wounds?! Watch where you’re playing your fucking elementary school playground games, cuntburg- ” Was that - yep, that was spit, from this dude with the very, _very_ loud voice. 

“Ahem,” said your mother a few feet past him. Air brushed past your face from how fast he turned his head, and then again, and again, as you assumed he looked from you to her with the dawning realization that he fucked up.

There were four levels to your mother’s rage. 

Level one was mild agitation. This was usually triggered if the Chinese food she ordered took longer to arrive than it should have, or from coworkers used cambri and not trebuchet.   
Level two was annoyance. Latula not having picking up her room, neighbors that parked on the end of your driveway - all triggers of level two.  
Level three was when shit starting getting real. Level three was anger. Restaurants that didn’t Pyralspite in, clients who thought watching _Law and Order_ once meant they could represent themselves in court easily led to this stage.  
But level four was when you done really fucked up. Level four was “Mom, I’m failing US Gov”, and “So I was dicking around in Chemistry and long story short I’m blind.” It was the most terrifying kind of rage, because your mother didn’t raise her voice, or even purposefully sound threatening. She just smiled like a shark and stared you down until you peed yourself , admitted your sins, or forced your soul to make a premature exit from your body. Whichever came first.

“ _Sweetie_ ,” she said in the most sour tone you’d ever heard, “What the _hell_ did you just say to my daughter? My _blind_ daughter?” Oh shit, she must’ve been hella pissed to pull out the blind card. 

There was a repeated, soft clicking sound, and at first you thought it was your mother tapping her high heel on the pavement. But the elevation meant it was that douchebag opening and closing his mouth like an asshole puppet. 

You mother scoffed, and it wasn’t hard to ~~remember~~ imagine the disgusted look on her face - eyes rolled back, one side of her upper lip raised in disgust. “No answer? I’ll just go find your father, then - I saw you with him earlier - I’m sure he’d love to know what his son’s been up to.”

You may be blind, but you sure as shit felt the exact moment that boy’s soul left his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey so that was a thing! anyways sorry that like took a while. high school has been a thing, and being an ~~og~~ host at the og (olive garden) has also been a thing. consequently free time has not been as much of a thing. what, nah, an ap language arts class and another language arts class and ap physics will be no sweat. hahahhaHAHAHAHAHAA
> 
> anyways, looks like our two protags finally met up. aren't they gettin along just swell? everything's dandy. woo!


	4. you seem like a trustworthy sort!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> someone fucks up, slightly in the past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright so this happened in

Your name was Karkat Vantas, and you were _dead fucking meat_. A terrifyingly well dressed woman was about to inform your father that your mouth is so dirty a full on hazmat squad would be required to even get started at chipping away the filth within - and there was no way in _hell_ you could let that happen. You’d protected your dear old dad from this unfortunate reality since you learned the word “shit” in third grade. Well, more like until about thirty minutes ago, when you first began seeking out your prey not unlike Jack from _The Shining_.

It was all downhill from there.

But how about some backtracking, first? Why exactly had you been running at such a breakneck pace, before being clotheslined by two tools playing red rover? 

You had, in fact, been on the hot pursuit of a third party, who was coincidentally also a tool. Out of the drill bit and into the hacksaw.

Although you flung the car door open and retrieved your luggage from the trunk with all the haste your ~~sleep deprived~~ extremely athletic form could muster, and all but sprinted to the section of cabins marked only as “Twelve”, you still found yourself late to the meeting in the Spades cabin by a solid six minutes. You couldn’t help but wish that Dad had let you drive yourself.

The cabin itself had the strangely immaculate feel of a living space in which no actual living had been done. Three shitty summer camp cots were crowded around a shitty fold out table in front of a surprisingly unshitty fireplace. A displeased middle aged gentleman with gelled back hair and a badass scar sat on the ledge of the fireplace, and two boys your age sat on the cots. All three heads turned to you, who had just barreled into the room so fast your backpack nearly toppled you over. Good first impression there, champ. 

After taking a moment to catch your breath and compose yourself (and wish you hadn’t just run a few hundred feet, your binder was killing you) , you eeked out, “Sorry I’m late, I rode here on the back of a massive turtle disguised as a car,” earning a bright grin from the fit, black haired dude on the left cot and a slight lip twitch from Mr. Coolguy McSunglasses over on the right. Badass Scarington glared at you with slightly more intensity. 

“Take a seat, Vantas,” he said gruffly. “I was just going over some ground rules with your cabin mates.”

You nodded - the four of you had agreed to arrive at camp an hour or so ahead of everyone else, to get to know each other before the camp was mobbed by your fellow adolescents.

You sat down with a thump, and almost immediately a strong hand only a few shades lighter than your own nearly broke your hand with an overly-clenched hand shake.

“Hullo! I’m Jake English,” paired with his accent, you almost thought it’s a nickname, but evidently he just has an ironic surname. You would’ve made a ~~snarky remark~~ joke about it, but - “I know it’s weird, since I am actually British, but Gran always had a sense of humor,” and out came that cocksure smile again. 

Before you could work on untangling that particular statement, the bleach blond hipster in sinfully skinny white jeans cleared his throat. 

“M’ name’s Dave. Dave Strider.” and **holy fucking shit** is this dude’s voice deep. Not to mention that ever-so-slight Southern twang - this guy practically oozed out bravado so hard you’d like to graduate early, head to med school, and become a doctor just to prescribe this dude both some extra-strength anti-perspirants to keep that shit under lock and some clearly much needed chill pills. It was, in your extremely humble opinion, a bit much, and Dave already set your teeth on edge.

Actually, it was probably just the absurd amount of cologne he had on. Shit, man, you could smell it from three feet away, and for once you weren’t exaggerating.

Finally, “Karkat Vantas. Nice to meet you,” managed to worm it’s way out of your mouth without sounding like the overly aggressive asshole you know you ~~are~~ often can be.

Your counselor made a wave-off gesture with his hand, and continued. “Anyways, I was just informin’ your cohorts here of the rules we have here in Spades Cabin.”

He cleared his throat. “First and foremost, you will refer to me as Jack and _only_ Jack. If I hear any one of you so much as _think_ the terms ‘Spades Slick’ or ‘Jack Noir’, you better bet’chour ass you’re gonna wind up on the business end of Old Faithful.”

Jake raised a hesitant hand. “Who’s Old Faithf-”

“Old Faithful is the plunger.” Jack threw a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing to the bathroom and the plunger leaning in an ominously dirty corner in the otherwise spotless cabin.

“Rule number two. If I catch you boys out of bed after your camp-mandated bedtime,” you couldn’t help but be a little thrilled at the ‘boys’, even though it was no longer an infrequent thing. “I am legally required to drag your sorry little ass back under the covers. Sans milk and fairytale, capice?” 

Jake nodded enthusiastically, Dave gave only a brief downward tilt of the head, and you grunted. 

After letting that hang over the three of you for a moment, Jack leaned forward slightly, the beginnings of a lopsided grin tugging at his mouth. “So you kids better not get caught.”

Maybe camp won’t be as bad as you thought.

“Now, there’s only one other big rule to go over, and this one is _strictly_ enforced. And I really fucking mean that, you little shits. Abso- _fucking_ -lutely no _goddamn_ sleepovers in our cabin. Believe it or not, I didn’t pop out of the womb a grown-ass man. I know what you sick little fuckers can do underneath a blanket,” Jack jabbed a crooked finger at each of you in turn. You made eye contact with Jake, and you were both comforted by the fact that you weren’t alone in your slightly red cheeks.

“You can have your pals chum around as much as you want while the sun’s out, but if there’s one thing I need it’s my beauty sleep. I can scare the shit out of you easily enough without an ever uglier mug than the one I’ve got. Besides, -”

You were starting to understand why he’s called Jack Noir behind his back. It’s easy to picture him in a worn out trenchcoat, sitting in the corner of a speakeasy and talkin’ up a pretty dame. The thought forced you to a stifle a laugh. Unfortunately, Jack was directly across from you, and it doesn’t take elf eyes to notice someone four feet away try not to laugh.

“ _-ucking Christ_ , Vantas, care to share with the class?”

Fuck. _Fuck_ , this is probably the most badass dude you will ever meet **ever** , and you’ve only known him for two goddamn minutes and you were blowing it already all because he happened to talk like a _shitty fucking private eye, holy fucki-_

Jack sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “every fucking year,” but you couldn’t be sure because you were adamantly focusing on not focusing on the sound of his voice.

After not really paying attention to the predictable camp-wide rules, which you’re fairly sure Jack glossed over anyways, he gets to something that’s been a real knife in your side since you learned you were going to camp.

“During your wonderful stay at Camp Sgrub, I will be administering your testosterone shots. I hope you all brought bandaids.” and, just as Dave opened his mouth, “No, Strider, I ain’t stabbin’ you in the ass.”

The sound of footsteps outside distract you for a moment, before you remember that your father had been parking the car when you made your mad dash and he was most likely only just now catching up to you.

The door behind you creaked open slightly. “So, boys, you better get used to seeing me around, ‘cause for the next month I’m gonna be your Stabda-”

“Karkat! Don’t run off like-” your lovely dad, your innocent, single father stood in the doorway, hair slightly out of place from jog to the cabin, shirt unbuttoned a few times more than usual, a few beads of sweat dripping down his chest. 

You were about to roll your eyes at him when Jack finished off with “-amn,” mouth barely open as he stared shamelessly at your doting, caring, father with such a **sinful** look in his beadly little **fucking** eyes that your blood instantly boiled with the force of a thousand burning suns.

Jack stood up and fucking _swaggered_ over to your dad. “The name’s Jack,” He said with a voice significantly more smooth than the one he had used with you not three seconds ago. “But you can call me-”

Oh **hell** no. Your face contorted into a primal display of anger, fit to be carved into a goddamn mountain as the number one example of a truly pissed off individual. Future generations would travel for hours to see this historic record of the most rageful expression to ever grace the human race with it's presence. Pictures, words, artists' depictions could not even begin to communicate the depth of emotion present in the great monument to your righteous fury - this was an experience that had to be had in person. This fucking **shit lord** -

“-anytime.” Jack finished both his line and your sanity with a single word. 

“ ** _FUCK!_** ” The earth itself seemed to tremble at your furious screech. It reverberated throughout the room, causing Jake to stare at you with unabashed horror and ruffling Dave's hair slightly. You ripped yourself onto your feet. Bits of spit flecked out of your mouth as you screamed and charged full fucking throttle at Jack, now demoted from _Instant Role Model, Just Add Expletives_ to _Enemy Number One_. A hundred elephants stomping in sync couldn't even hope to compare with the beating war drum of your feet on the cabin floor. This fucker had _hell to pay_.

In a turn of both bad and good luck, Jack grabbed your father - _Jack grabbed your father_ and pulled them out of your warpath at the last second. 

But it was too late. Jack’s fall from grace was as swift as his rise. Maybe - **maybe** if he had been subtle, had shown a _romantic_ interest in the man who had spent years raising you, you may have _eventually_ been okay with it. But your father deserved so much better than the terrible fucking cliche of “You can call me anytime.” And you meant to inform Mr. Noir about that fact. Politely. With your fists. 

And so it was that you, Karkat Vantas, all five foot five of you surging with the anger of a kicked hornets’ nest, chased down Jack “Spades Slick” Noir until your untimely departure from this mortal plane by a Ms. Theresa Pyrope. 

Maybe you should take Kanaya’s advice about lowering your blood pressure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, i did make crab dad hot. that wasn't a fever dream


	5. The autopsy notes the time of death at sometime after 4 P.M

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which karkat unexpectedly goes bowling

You’re the one and only Terezi Pyrope, and your grin could only have been wider with the assistance of anesthesia and surgery. Or, at the very least, whiskey, a pocket knife, and determination.

Your mother was dragging Mr. Dead-Man-Walking by the ear, you following with your hand on her shoulder, in search of his poor, poor father. More resisstance from the guilty party had been expected, but apparently his gift of needlessly convoluted swearing and general tough-guy-facade didn’t translate into a high pain tolerance. As soon as Mother grabbed his ear, Mr. Screamo was a goner. Well, that’s not entirely accurate - he was fucked the moment he opened his mouth.

Yet, as the three of you made your way to what you could only assume to be Fuckboi’s papa, his heapings of expletives turned to pleas for mercy.

You only _really_ started to notice when a sweaty hand only slightly larger than your own (not that you noticed that) made a pathetic attempt at grabbing at your’s.You definitely hadn’t been listening intently to him, filling away his more creative curses for future use. Nope.

You didn’t need to see his face to know the desperation smeared across it like butter on a biscuit. “Please, _please_ for the love of all that is _fucking_ holy do not tell my Dad what I said. He can’t know, fuck, he can’t kno-” 

You batted away The Crabby One’s hand with a resoounding _smack_ , and managed to contain your cackle into a mere giggle at the ~~adorable~~ pitiful way his voice trembled. “Should’ve thought of that before, dumbass,”

The groan / scream combo that followed was almost enough to bust the dam containing your extremely powerful cackle, but fortunately the engineers had done all their math right, carried all their zeroes, and the impressive structure managed to hold it’s own against the imposing waves of your laughter. A _snnrrk_ reportedly escaped, but witnesses deny any such thing happening.And by witnesses, you meant witness, and by witness you meant yourself.

Finally, you arrived at your destination. There was a steep downward slope, and two men spoke in slightly hushed tones in front of you down the hill, one with a gentle voice and the other lower, but stuttering somewhat. Listening closely, you heard a scratching sound in the direction of Nervous Nelson - rubbing the back of his neck, teasing the end of his hair. ~~Looks~~ Seems like someone has a crush. 

Your Mother’s rather toned shoulders moved in harmony as she tossed the living carcass before the two men like a sacrificial offering, resulting in it rolling slightly and hitting either their legs or, judging by the height of their voices, a bench with a muffled “Ow”.

Their conversation came to a more abrupt halt than Jeb Bush’s Presidential campaign.  
“ _Mister Vantas_.”

Mr. Softie spoke up. “Redgl- Theresa? What are you doing with Kark-”  
“Are you aware of how _filthy_ and _disrespectful_ your son’s language is?” The muscles beneath your hand shifted as Mother crossed her arms, and the ground shook ever so slightly at the behest of her tapping foot.

The Crabby One’s Dad, or “Crabdad”, was clearly shocked and appalled. “ _My_ Karkat? Why the first time I ever heard him curse was just- “ a pause as he checks his watch, “thirty seven minutes ago!”

The “Karkat” writhed on the ground and let loose a sound that could only be described as “begging God for death”. It was a safe bet to say he knew his prayers wouldn’t be answered.

-

Your name wasn’t important. Your tombstone could be blank for all you cared. After seeing the disappointment on your Dad’s face, you knew you weren’t getting into Heaven. No amount of praying could save your sorry soul now, but you might as well try - at the very least, you could get away from Spades Sicko and the Murder Mom long enough to find your way to Kanaya - and Kanaya could fix it. Totally, 100%, make everything perfect like a Fairy God-damn Mother. 

You couldn’t even bring yourself to flip off Noir when he sneered down at you from his spot on the bench he was sharing with your Dad. Which you were **not** angry about, because Anger Karkat got you into this mess and ~~Mildly~~ Calm Karkat was going to get you out of it. Did that dipshit have an ever-so-slight **blush** on the ass he called a face? Because - because you weren’t mad about that! At all! Ha ha ha hhaa hhaahaHA! Who has time to be entirely constructed of rage and spite when the inevitability of death is right around the cor- 

“ _Mister Vantas_.”

Dad’s head whipped towards her, then down to you, then back up to her.. “Redgl- Theresa? What are you doing with Kark-”

“Are you aware of how _filthy_ and _disrespectful_ your son’s language is?”

There it was. Someone tip the executioner, ‘cause that was one clean fucking cut. Almost a relief, really, to finally get your crimes out in the open. Almost. Not quite. Not really at all.

“ _My_ Karkat? Why the first time I ever heard him curse was just- “ a pause as he checks his watch, “thirty seven minutes ago!”

If you could go back in time and fight yourself, you would in a **heartbeat** , but since that’s not an option - yet - you’ll settle for running away like a coward. Unfortunately for you, the knee you tried to propel yourself forward with was the same one that got **completely fucking wasted** on the asphalt that fateful moment like five minutes ago. And while your suck-tastic survival attempt got you out past the bench - barely - the groan that slithered out of your lips would’ve put a feral raccoon stuck in a tractor to shame. Even you recognized that that was a stupid idea, anyway - you could **not** take any more running in your binder today. Preferably ever, but. Yeah.

That’s when you saw it, though: your opening. The red headed blind girl with a grin like chainsaw was trying desperately not to assault everyone in a seven mile radius with her cacophonous laughter, drawing that attention of her mom - and giving you a chance to bust this goddamn popsicle stand open faster than - **fucking Christ** , you don’t have time for this shit!

Your exit was that of a man with absolutely nothing to lose. It was all downhill from here.

 

Literally.

 

With a desperate shove, mustering up all the force you could muster, you launched yourself down the slope with reckless abandon. The dropped jaws of your Father, Nemesis, and the Gilmore Girls quickly left your field of vision as you rolled down the hillside with enough traction to warrant the manufacture of Vantas brand tires. 

Grass and sky whirled by like a tornado while evidently every single rock in the history of the planet decided that your face and bloody, bruised, and abused knee were perfect vacation spots. Well, the weather’s warm, friends, stay as long as you like, welcome to hell. 

The shrieking rattling past your skull was either you or the wind, and at this point, who even gives a shit. It may have even been Red Rover herself, but with any luck, you wouldn’t ~~see~~ ~~run into~~ cross paths with her again.

But you had more pressing concerns. Namely, a wood chip in your ass, enough grass in your mouth for a Caesar salad, and probably like eight broken ribs, judging from the way it hurt just to consider drawing a breath. Maybe your tumultuous fall from grace eradicated all this bad karma in one go, and you could slow to a stop with whatever trace amounts of grace and dignity remain in your system. 

Alas, that would just be **too fucking easy**. Instead of a nice, easy ending to the Hill Ride from Hell, with a gradual flattening out of the slope until you came to a stop, your journey to the center of the earth ended on the high note of knocking over some dumbass with way too many suitcases like a bowling pin. Jade baggage flew through the air and made satisfying _blonks_ as they hit the ground.

Woo, fucking, strike or something.

It seemed like bad luck continued to haunt your life until you realized the “Jesus fucking Christ!” that came out of your victim’s mouth was too articulate to be anyone but none other than one Miss Kanaya Maryam - future fashion mogul, contouring wizard, and momfriend extraordinaire. Someone add Karkat Vantas to the list of Disney Princesses - you just found your goddamn Fairy Godmother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so I should probably tag this as slow burn  
> also! if I'm taking too long on a chapter, feel free to yell at me at my tumblr, meconomancer


	6. I worry about - wonder about your choices so often, sweetheart.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and kanaya's here too!

Your name was Kanaya Maryam, and, while certainly memorable, none of your stays at Camp Sgrub began quite like this.

“This” being, knocked over like an idiot, luggage flying everywhere, all because your best friend - for some inane reason, knowing him - decided the Scenic Overlook - essentially a cliff - was an ideal place for a tumble.You didn’t need to see his face or even his horrendously emo ensemble of black hoodie and ripped skinny jeans (unfortunately a constant in his life) to recognize him. The heart wrenching, ear destroying “ _FUCK!_ ” screeching from his throat (another unfortunate constant) as he barrelled into you was as good an identifier as a driver’s license (which, to be honest, you had doubts over his possession of).

You stood up from your position on the ground and dusted off your favorite red skirt - a little too long for the weather, but the first day of camp was hardly the time to cause a “mass swoon as everyone regardless of sexuality loses consciousness to allow their brains enough time to fully grasp the scope of how much they’d like to be roundhouse kicked in the crotch by you”, as Karkat had once rambled. He could be as bad as yourself. Especially when attempting to raise your spirits…

Extending a hand to lift Karkat off the ground, you dusted a hand over your clothing once more to be sure the stitching was -

“Wow, Kanaya, already groping your own ass? We’ve _gotta_ get you a girl,” Karkat grinned up at you, leaves and grass and dirt entrenched in his hair.

You sighed, and smiled, and ~~just barely~~ didn’t fuss with his hair, because you were not, and are not, fussy. “It seems we ought to buy you velcro shoes, while we’re at it,”

He stopped picking up one of your many, _necessary_ bags (all of which were jade, with your initials painstakingly embroidered in white, you really miss them) to raise his eyebrows at you questioningly.

The smirk sneaking across your lips was quickly hidden with the air of elegance perfect for hiding one’s snarky remarks. “Since you seem to have gotten tripped up in your laces, the obvious solution is to demote you to Sketchers immediately. Perhaps of the flashing, noise making variety, to warn others of your impending presence. Unless something else motivated you to roll down the Overlook?” You even went so far as to examine your nails as you did so - in a miraculous display of luck, the paint hadn’t been chipped in the slightest. 

Karkat marched over to you, fake scowl in place on his face (his eyebrows didn’t furrow as much as he imagined, and he never noticed how much he jutted his chin when angry). “First off, fuck you, Sketchers is a respectable shoe brand with quality products. Second, don’t change the subject, you master manipulator, we’re talking about how you’re _finally_ asking out Rose this year, or I’ll commandeer a legion of hounds to piss on every shrubbery you hold dear.”

For once, at the mention of her name you smiled more than blushed, looking away from your friend and towards the jungle gym, upon which the majority of the younger campers were playing. You turned your head back to Karkat and smiled.

“Actually, we, um,” He peered at you with interest as you searched through your extremely organized bag for your phone.You found it, checked the time, and smiled broadly involuntarily at the background image. You did not blush in the slightest, and did not have butterflies in your stomach. Gently, nay, reverently, you handed him your phone, and watched his grin stretch ear to ear, like a seven year old with a gummy bear that matched them in weight. His smile only grew wider as he brought the device closer to his eyes, examining something closely. 

At last, he seemed to be satisfied, and shook his head, laughing. (Little bits of leaves ended up all over his shoulders, and you only brushed them off a little bit.)

“That’s really gay, Kanaya,” he finally said after admiring what was, and is, your favorite selfie of all time. You and Rose had on matching hoodies: hers a pink one with “FULL” in green across the chest, yours an identical green with “HOMO” inscribed in pink. It was, indeed, quite gay. 

Especially if you counted Rose’s head on your shoulder, and the inexplicable smudging of your typically impeccable lipstick. Or Rose’s slightly ruffled hair, or the smirk across her lips, or her lips, or -

“Alright Ms. Queen of the Gays, do I need to confiscate this, or can I trust you won’t run into oncoming traffic with a disgustingly lovesick expression and only a swooning sigh as your last word?” Karkat said, continuing his grin. He waved the phone back and forth in front of your face tauntingly before raising it above his head.

You couldn’t help but laugh as you snatched it back from him - you easily have a full head and a half on him, to this day. “I can be trusted to not die tragically. That can be left to the lesbians on television.”

Just like that, his face turned sour. “If you even _tangentially_ bring up Lexa again, I’m going to have to leave. You know our hearts can’t take any more cr- er, discussion on that subject.” He leaned down and piled the rest of your bags on the rolling suitcase.

Your fingers splayed across your lips as you gasped dramatically. “Why, Karkat, I am shocked and appalled that you believe I would deal such a low blow to your clearly wounded heart. Let me guess - did a cute individual sneezed in your general vicinity, forcing you to lose it so completely the only option left was a swift, if grassy, exit?” 

The two of you rolled the suitcase back onto the path, then continued to your cabin, which you would later learn was in the same section as Karkat’s, though with a different counselor. It was homey, if a little dark - black with white accents? Hmm.

“Hardy-har-har, Miss Fussypan- er, Fussyskirt. But while there was an individual involved-” he stopped your eyebrow waggle before it could begin with a stern look, no doubt assimilated from his Father’s impressive repertoire. “It was a _dumbass_ individual, not a cute one. I think. I was a little busy at the time.”

“Losing your shit?”

“Losing my shit. Anyways, who even cares about the festering maggot breeding ground that is my wound of a love life anymore? Not after the tragic ending of my previous relationship.” Karkat flopped back onto the bunk assigned to you (labelled with a cheerfully written “Kanaya Maryam! ^u^”), making himself at home, as was usually the case.

You tutted and began putting away your belongings in a small yet quaint vanity by your bedside. “Karkat, you last relationship was with Anders, spirit healer slash potential cat turned abomination.”

“He died, Kanaya!”

“He’s _fictional_.”

“We were going to change the world together!”

“ _You_ killed him.”

“He blew up the Chantry!”

“I really don’t-”

Karkat shook his head and looked forlornly into the distance. “So tragic,”

You rolled your eyes and lowered yourself gently onto the bed beside him, careful not to marr your skirt any further. “Please, at least humor me, now that my life is devoid of the complications of ‘angsty teen seeks same’. What did they look like?”

He sighed, but knowing you for most of his life had taught him when to quit dicking around and share some much desired deets. “Fine, just because you’re you. They had red hair, and a shit ton of freckles - I mean it too, whatever you’re thinking of, it’s triple.”

He would’ve told you the very faint blush was from wearing a hoodie and pants in the dead of summer, and you wouldn’t have contradicted him.

“Plus these stupid as fuck red tinted glasses? Well, fuck, they’re blind, so fashion kinda gets the sh-”

“Wait, you ran into a blind girl with red glasses?” Your fingers halted amidst his hair, pausing from combing the debris from Karkat’s head.

“We shouldn’t be assuming pronouns here, but-” Karkat propped himself up on his elbows, looking at you with slightly furrowed brows.

“I know her, Karkat. Or I think I do. Of her, at least. Friend of a… an ex-friend. Tell me: did this individual perhaps have a…” a pause as you searched for a word both strong and polite enough. “...a _grating_ laugh?”

Now one eyebrow was quirked. “Like thirty chainsaws hacking through burning sandpaper, what your point, Kanaya?” He asked, curious.

You took a breath to steady yourself, closing your eyes and preparing for what was most definitely a truly startling revelation for Karkat. This single event could set the tone for the rest of his time at Camp Sgrub, unless the two of you acted very quickly and very carefully. “The person you rammed into at Mach One is, according to your tes- your reports, none other than Miss Terezi Pyrope.

 

You expected to find new lost jaw on the floor, dropped faster than the hottest of potatoes or the illest of beats. 

 

Yet all you received was a blank stare.

“...Who the fuck is that, and whyyy should I give a shit?”

Exasperation soaked your voice like an eight dollar watergun. “ _Karkat_ she’s one half the _Scourge Sisters_.”

 

You waited.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Uhh,”

“The other fifty percent of which is _Vriska Serket_.” You groaned.

“Oh.” Karkat replied quietly, now genuinely looking forlornly in the distance. “ **That** Terezi Pyrope.”

“ _Yes_ , Karkat.”

“Well, fuck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow holy shit when i started this fic out i thought "hey i can totally 100% finish this before homestuck is over lmao" well now homestuck ends in 10 days, kk and tz have exchanged like 14 words and yep. yep
> 
> i'm gonna do my best to crank out more chapters to get as far as possible before / after the Big Ending, so keep an eye out i guess? and feel free to yell at me on tumblr if shit's takin a while, my url is meconomancer. or if you just wanna yell at me in general i dunno


	7. i will rise again like a bad idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> things continue to happen although in this chapter not very many things happen at all

You inhaled deeply, smelling pine and new luggage and something suspiciously similar to gunpowder and, of course, the scent of mud and blood and a distinct lack of laundry detergent that marked Vriska Serket’s favorite jacket. You could already feel the grin slipping across her face as you told her about your entrance to Camp Sgrub.

The cot underneath you smelled like rust and creaked as you moved, so you quickly settled in and resumed your tale.

“As I was saying, after he _decimated_ me and my mom, this kid let loose the loudest _**FUCK!**_ I’ve ever heard - and, well, you’ve heard ‘Tula playing CoD - but then he started saying the funnie-”

“Hold up!” Vriska barked and halted her pacing. “He said ‘fuck’ really loudly? What did he look like?”

You glared in the direction of her voice, hoping your (portrayed) lack of amusement was apparent despite your trademark red shades.

She just groaned. “Oh, fuck off Terezi, everybody makes mistakes. Even me. Sometimes.”

“Of course,” you laughed. “Sorry for offending you, Hannah Montana.”

“Fuck _off_ Rezi, that is _so_ not why I bleached my hair an-”

You leaned forward, trying to quarantine your laughter. “You bleached your hair? Could you look any more like a ‘basic white girl’?”

“Fuck!! Off!! I’m, like, twelve percent German, you know that!” Your cot shook slightly after that - she must’ve actually stamped her foot, like an actual toddler.

Despite your best efforts, the meticulously guarded quarantine was breached. Your laugh spilled out from the gates of your mouth into the world, slaughtering innocent civilians with its raucous tones, like murderous windchimes. Windchimes with...knives? That was kind of shitty. Long winded metaphors aren’t as much of a breeze as you thought.

“Ugh!!” Your ass launched into the air on account of Vriska’s face-first plummet into your cot. Houston, we have lift off.

She rolled over and huffed. “We were talking about that douchebag from earlier, anyway. Was he, like, weirdly protective of his dad?”

You cocked your head to the side, curious. “Actually, yeah. Why do you ask?”

Then it was Vriska’s turn to laugh, landing just too far into ‘high school romcom bratty antagonist’ zone to be genuine. “Oh my god, seems like Vant-ass still knows how to make an entrance,” pops out amidst her moderately less fake giggles.

“Vantass?”

“Karkat Vantas - he goes to my school. Trust me, he’s a _tooootal_ douche. He’s basically an actual hygiene product.” Vriska adjusted herself to be facing you and bounced up and down, ever excited for gossip. “This one time, in-”

“Gay camp?”

“No, shut up, it’s his first year here. Anyways, this one time, sophomore year, the sub for our English class couldn’t find the right room number, so Vantas decides it’s his time to shine, right? Except all he did was fucking _lecture_ us on how Fried Green Tomatoes is about lesbians!! Like, what the fuck, right??”

For a second you closed your eyes out of habit, just to process. “Vriska, Fried Green Tomatoes is absolutely about lesbians. It’s incredibly, extremely blatant.”

“What?! Just because something has two female leads doesn’t make them auto-gay! Did we even watch the same movie?”

“Vriska!” You shouted, silencing her (not an easy task, as many three am Skype arguments have taught you). “It’s based on a book. In which they are canonically lesbians.”

The sheet music evident calls for a rest, as there was a beat of silence.

“Well, fuck, now I know why Kanaya was looking like a thousand degree piece of steel the whole class.”

Your eyebrows waggled up and down rapidly, though you ~~didn’t even try~~ tried to contain them. “Kanaya, huh? How’s that particular iron in the fire going?”

Someone must’ve given you the wrong music, because evidently Vriska was still in a measure of silence.

After a little too long, she laughed shrilly and ‘lightly’ punched your shoulder. “It’s whatever, we’ll have time to gossip after the campfire meeting. It’s this dumb thing the head counselor does every year, but since it’s your first year at Sgrub you might as well get it over with now and not later.”

Face scrunched up playfully, you asked, “Who says I’m coming back next year?”

“Oh, you will,” Vriska replied, grin surely as wide as your own.

\------

The fireplace gathering was more crowded than a pack of sardines stuffed with salmon. Teenagers buzzed to and fro like bees with honey, except their stingers were composed of saved snapchats of double chins and their nectar was emotional distress.

You sat on a log that had real, actual indentations from being worn away by years and years of literal asses. While it was a disturbing experience, the log’s perseverance earned it your grudging respect. After deftly completing a game of ‘Where’s Rose?’, the girls lead you over to their ‘favorite spot’, aka The Log. You turned to look at Kanaya and Rose, and smiled to yourself at their instantly joined hands. Surprisingly, given how much Kanaya ~~prattles~~ ~~rambles~~ talks about her, you hadn’t had the chance to meet Rose yet, since she took advanced classes and had a different lunch period than you, so you were ~~pretty fucking ecstatic~~ ~~pleased as punch~~ glad when she turned out to be amazingly fucking normal. Though, knowing Kanaya’s taste in women, Rose probably murders infants as a hobby or something. But, hey, she isn’t Serket, so that has to be an improvement. Right?

There are a handful of your compatriots that you recognize in the mob of teens trying to find a place to sit that’s both close to the comfortable caress of the fire and far enough away to plausibly not listening once this “speech marking the commencement of another year at Camp Sgrub” finally gets underway. 

Dave was over talking to a person with dark skin, even darker hair tied up in a messy ponytail, and Harry Potter glasses, which were probably stolen from the Harry Potter cosplayer standing next to them. Although Harry Potter had glasses on as well. Maybe they’d swapped? Who knew.  
Aside from the two of them. And people acquainted with them. 

Jake was also easy to spot, as he had climbed on top of a nearby rock and plopped his action-hero ass next to someone ~~straight~~ right out of an anime. Kamina had hair so blond it might as well have been white, styled in a way that looked only slightly less ridiculous than the triangle glasses. You met enough assholes with weird glasses on the first day of camp to last you a lifetime. 

Once everyone had more or less settled down, or at least found a temporary resting spot for their tuckus, an old bald white dude cleared his throat on a small stage by the fire. 

“Attention, attention all campers.” He adjusted his green bowtie with one hand while the other beckoned for silence. To your surprise, the camp quieted down at this gesture - an event that caused you and the handful of other first timers to be truly shocked and appalled. Teenagers? Willfully being quiet at the request of an authority figure? What’s next? A rational Tumblr update? _Half-Life 3?_

You’re sure Baldy McBalderson gave quite the speech about having a fun but responsible experience over the next month, but you didn’t even waste time pretending to listen to that utter load of cowshit. Instead you mindlessly scrolled through your various feeds, like a **regular** teenager. Until a sweaty counselor with an apparent interest in the steampunk subculture requested with a whisper that you put your phone away and listen to ~~Dr. Scratch~~ That Bald Dickhole. So you placed the precious device back in your hoodie pocket, just barely holding back an exaggerated eyebrow raise and subsequent rolling of the eyes, when you locked eyes with the third to last person on the “People I Want to Make Eye Contact With” list, just barely eeking out a placement above Literally A Basilisk and Literally Medusa.

Vriska Serket. 

And, in typical Serket fashion, she’s grinning at you while drawing a finger across her neck.

 

This is fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, so I'm going to add some more to this chapter in a few days because I wrote it & then realized jack shit happened?? so hopefully that can happen tomorrow night (4/12/16) , to have something to cling to before everything goes pear shaped


	8. "Yep, lotta tension around here." "You think so? Do you?"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> oh shit, it's calliope. oh shit, karkat and terezi collide, again.

“...Now then, I am sure all of you adolescents are yearning to return to your naturally obstreperous selves as much as you yearn to familiarise your young selves with your compatriots. As it so happens, my beloved yearly camp commencement speech has reached its conclusion. Naturally, as one door closes, another opens, and so I will turn the following activity into the capable hands of our head counselor, Miss Pei-”

“ _Alright_ , you little _shits_ , it’s time for _Camp Sgrub 2016!!_ ” The person that interrupted Cuebag Doucheball had a loudness that rivaled your own and braids longer than the “ _beloved yearly camp commencement speech_ ”, sarcasm heavily intended.

At their proclamation, the campers were suddenly full of life once again, like someone shoved an energizer bunny up each camper’s individual asshole. Logs were leapt off of, passionate embraces were had, and you think Dave even let loose a holler. It was chaos; it was anarchy; it was everything you were used to from public high school. Not even worth the effort of removing your behind from the surprisingly comfortable ass-carved log.

But then (pun intended), Kanaya yanked your sorry behind off The Log and dragged you into a group with herself, Rose, and the second most anime person you had ever seen. Number one was firmly locked in place by the triangle shades douche with gravity-defying hair from earlier, but **holy fuck** this individual was a Grade A kawaii-ass motherfucker. With curly white hair and the widest, most _exaggerated_ eyes you had ever seen, they had evidently emerged from a statistically unlikely wormhole connecting our world with fucking Death Note or some shit.

“Karkat, meet Calliope. Calliope, Karkat Vantas.” Rose smiled and motioned for the two of your to introduce yourselves while Kanaya excused herself to ‘retrieve our other party members’.

Alright, good first impression, go: “Nice to meet you, Cahl… er, Kale…” Fuck.

Fortunately, they just giggled. Yes, it was really fucking cute, whatever, **moving on**. 

“Like this: _Calliope_. I use she and her pronouns.”

Unfortunately, with Kanaya gone, so is all of your impulse control. “And tea and crumpets too, I’m guessing?”

Rose raised an eyebrow, and Calliope’s expression was unreadable. Shit. Fuck.

“Shit. Fuck. I meant to say, ‘Hello, Calliope, I’m Karkat, I use he/him, what’s up,’ not ‘You’re British and I’m douchier than an actual hygiene product.’ ” 

You avoided eye contact at first, but then Calliope was giggling, and Rose may have just snorted, and Kanaya came back from where-ever-the-fuck with three figures trailing behind her to find the three of you hunched over and laughing like hyenas. 

After settling down, you looked around briefly, shocked to find a distinct lack of teenage bodies crushing you from all sides in a rave of newfound freedom. “Where the hell are we, Lalonde?”

Rose shrugged. “The road less travelled,” She said with a suspiciously Strider-esque smirk. 

“All the better for the ice breaker games!” Calliope interject with what was obviously characteristic cheer. Oh shit, did she have dimples? What kind of sugar, spice, an ev- wait, what the fuck? **Ice breaker games?**

Your head snapped back to Calliope faster than a barbershop quartet. 

“ _ **Ice breaker games?**_ ” was said in unison with someone coming up behind Dave, who had followed Kanaya into your group’s private, secure little haven. AKA, somewhere about thirty feet away from the edge of the ‘woods’ and totally within the line of sight of the campfire.

“And who might you be, dear? I know Rose, Dave, and Kanaya, and now of course Ka-”

“Well, well, well, fancy meeting you here, Mr. Vantas.” Smug as ever, Strider.

Dave had stealthily sidled up next to you and leaned against a tree like a douche. “Like a douche” isn’t really a necessary a description, as Strider did and continues to do everything “like a douche”, but this particular action was done especially “like a douche” and was therefore in requirement of such a statement. He nodded slightly to Rose, who shook her head and smiled slightly as a response. You had no desire to deal with whatever the fuck **that** that was.

You settled for sighing only a little more dramatically than necessary. “Yes, Strider, we’ve met already, it was amazing, whatever. Could we just get these introduction over with before I revert back to the psyche of a twelve year old? Because that’s **apparently** how old we all are, since we’re playing _ice breaker games_.” The bridge of your nose was pinched in a fashion befitting your emotional exhaustion as you continued, mumbling “Christ, I thought school was over.”

Calliope’s smile faltered for a second before stretching wider. “Well, we-”

Suddenly, Vriska Serket was more up in your grill than a tragically lost and soon to be burnt hotdog. “Something bugging you, Karkat?” 

It was a statement dipped in sugar to hide it’s sour malfeasance. Truly a gold painted turd. In your experience, the sweeter Vriska sounded, the saltier she was, like some kind of weird, shitty candy. A weird shitty candy probably filled with rat poison.

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Like what, _Karkat_?” Her smile was knives and hidden aces. Her shit was making you physically ill, like a disease ridd- no, fuck it, she was just **pissing you off** , no metaphors necessary.

Calliope, bless her heart, was still trying. “If we could all just, _simmer down_ for a moment- “

Simmer down? **Simmer down?** This stove only had one option, and that was to turn **up** the heat! Was that a major design flaw? **Yes!** Did that matter? **No!**

You huffed, and you puffed, and you took a deep breath because you were not here to repeat old mistakes. For once in your miserable little life you were going to make a good first impression. Closing your eyes, you wheeled around to the as-of-yet unintroduced individual in your ‘get-to-know-ya’ group, and stuck your hand in a gesture of friendship.

Their hand gripped your’s firmly.

“I’m sorry, I can’t handle her right now. Karkat Vantas. Nice to meet you.”

You opened your eyes to find a pair of red tinted glasses and a sharklike grin staring up at you.

“Terezi Pyrope. Truly a _pleasure_ to make your acquaintance.”

“ **God fucking damnit.** ” 

Kanaya laid a reassuring hand on Terezi’s shoulder and flashed you a reassuring smile. “Terezi, Karkat. I know you have, rather impressively, already butted heads within the first two hours of camp, but if that can be put aside for the sake of us all playing what is surely a _wonderful_ game of ice breaking.“ A friendly nod sent to Calliope, message received, a bright smile in reply.

Kanaya tilted her head and smiled at the two of you. Or, well, just you. “Yes? We can all _get along_?” 

Her tone left the conversation so tight there was no room for argument. 

Behind her ridiculous glasses, Terezi rolled her eyes. “Alright, fine, _Mom_ , geeze.” She took a bold step forward, only to experience the classic intersection of foot and stump. Her brows raised in shock at this inopportune meeting in perfect synchronization with your arms, that raised to catch her.

Terezi was surprisingly light. Really, she was all skin and bones - not at all like you. Realizing you were still holding on to her shoulders, you abruptly pushed her away and yelled “SORRY!” with as much force as your shove. The magnitude of this shout and subsequent motion has already been firmly established and needs no further extrapolation.

The redhead went flying away from you with a shriek, and was only thanks to your ~~videogame enhanced reflexes~~ natural athleticism that your hand managed to latch on to her own, dark skin contrasting sharply with her own pale splattering of freckles. 

You’d barely paid attention to Physics, but you were acquainted enough with Mr. Isaac Newton to know where this situation, and your torso, was headed. Mainly down.

The pair of you collapsed onto the ground and with a previously unexperienced streak of luck managed to not bust a gut on any sticks, rocks, or other debris in the crash. You did land rather brutally on top of Terezi though, knocking the wind out of both of you. In retrospect, you wish you could say landing on top of Terezi Pyrope was soft, or warm, or comforting, but really she was bony and you’re _pretty sure_ she inadvertently knee’d you in the crotch, shit.

“Ow! Fuck! The agony!!” You rolled away from Terezi Pyrope for the second time that day, this time to make sure your balled-up-sock-dick didn’t fall out of your pants and preserve your status as Manly Man™. Staggering to your feet, you made sure to moan and clutch your junk for good measure. “Am I dying? Kanaya, I think I’m dying.”

You successfully had everyone’s attention. That’s something, you suppose. 

Strider scratched his forehead. “Laying it on a little thick, dude.”

You were about to shoot back what was definitely going to be only the wittiest of comebacks when, totally unexpectedly:

“Karkat, at least help me up, dickhole.” 

Kanaya shifted awkwardly, obviously about to go ~~meddle~~ offer Terezi her hand, but Rose gently held her arm and quickly whispered something in her girlfriend’s ear that left the taller girl thoroughly bamboozled.

Anyways.

Terezi was prone on the ground, and for the first time that day you really, **actually** looked at her. The red hair and glasses you already had down, but you hadn’t noticed just how many freckles she had before. Maybe it was the flames from the fire dancing on her skin, or maybe it was the toothy grin flashing up at you, but there was something about Terezi Pyrope that gave you the impression that she really didn’t need your help getting up.

So why was she asking for it?

Wordlessly, you offered her your hand. After several seconds, she asked “Well?” and you went, “Fuck,” before grabbing the hand she started waving only mostly in the general direction of up and pulling her onto her feet. 

You found yourselves once again invading each other’s personal space until a mutual retreat was called as you both took a step back. 

You bit your lip, waiting for the lightening strike of “say this to seem like less of an ass, you ass”, but an awkward cough from Calliope startled you into saying “I’m sorry I KO’ed you and your mom,” in concurrence with Terezi spitting out “Holy fuck, you _are_ a disaster.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact my thumb is hurting like a motherfucker right now because my mom and bro and i went to the local pizza place tonight and i got one of those plastic capsules with a prize inside from the arcade and im so physically inept that i hurt myself trying to get it open only to find the saddest fucking balloon inside. this thing looks like a deflated worm, honestly. is there a way to tie the balloon, you may ask? no. no there is not. there was a tiny, strawlike piece of plastic included in this capsule of pain, and it does not fit on the balloon. my life is truly tragic.


	9. "Although justice must be tempered with mercy, it must still maintain a sense of retribution."

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> These assholes were spewing forth shit at an astonishing rate. Someone turn on the air, their nasty, rank diarrhea was, quite frankly, nauseating, and if someone didn’t flush this toilet fast the problem would be so far out of hand you’d all be stepping in it. The feces would rapidly fill the area until reaching the ceiling, and then the shit would really hit the fan. Someone definitely had to pull the plug on this thing.

The most anime thing to ever occur in your life had been with none other than Karkat Fucking Vantas. Absolutely incredible. You were certain that Vriska had already uploaded at least eight pictures of you falling on your ass like a dipshit, covered in leaves and mud, not to mention the out of context pictures of Vantas straddling you undoubtedly sent to Latula, and by extension your mother. Absolutely _fucking_ incredible. At least the other members of your sad little group had the decency to not intrude upon the sheer ridiculousness occurring in front of them, judging by the distinct lack of the crackling of stepped on leaves and Dave’s poor attempts at stifling his laughter.

Meanwhile, you could feel the heat radiating from Karkat’s blushing cheeks as he spluttered. “I am- I’m not- Who told you I was a disaster?” 

“I did, Karkat!” Vriska took a bold step forward, sending out a small wave of air as she probably got Vant-ass in a headlo-

“Don’t give me a fucking **noogie**! OW! Can you stop being a bitch long enough to-”

Kanaya and Rose coughed synchronously at seven o’ clock. Not timewise, it was way past seven, seven o'clock as in the... the direction. Y’know. Like when they’re being all cool in action movies and the lead Burly Man says something like, “Looks like we’ve got some hostiles at seven o'clock.” Only in this case, instead of hostiles there were lesbians.

Karkat scrambled past Vriska to duck behind a tree, not caring about the low- hanging branches he hit on the way. “Feminism aside, Kanaya, she’s being a bi-”

“Karkat,” Kanaya said with all the condescension of a mother to her toddler, “ You **know** how I feel about derogatory slurs, especially those targeted towards women, and-”

“What, are you **defending** Vriska now, Maryam? Seems like you really are reverting back to twelve-year-old-you, Kanaya!”

There was a moment of silence in which Karkat foolishly held his ground. Vriska frantically slapped at your shoulder while stage whispering “Oh shit, oooohhhh shit, Kan’s _pissed_ , holy fuck,”

Her next words were to be the final blow. Karkat was already down to his final sliver of health from all that rough-and-tumble shit earlier in the day, and this was one boss battle he was utterly incapable of winning. 

“ _Karkat. Vantas. I-_ ”

“You’re being a fucking asshole, man,” interjected Dave in a rush of breath that said he’d been holding that one for a while.

A light smack near Dave, then a quiet “Ow,” as Rose cooly told him off. “Eloquently put, David, but I believe the role of verbal annihilator was already claimed by my girlfriend.”

“Thanks, sis. I needed that mental image.”

“David, that wasn’t even _remotely_ sexual, an-”

These assholes were spewing forth shit at an astonishing rate. Someone turn on the air, their nasty, rank diarrhea was, quite frankly, nauseating, and if someone didn’t flush this toilet fast the problem would be so far out of hand you’d all be stepping in it. The feces would rapidly fill the area until reaching the ceiling, and then the shit would really hit the fan. Someone definitely had to pull the plug on this thing.

And you would be that someone. “Jesus fucking _Christ_ , could you all stop? You’re all acting like children, except for Kanaya. Sit your asses down, let’s play the fucking icebreaker.”

Everyone sat their asses down.

“Thank you, Te-” Kanaya started.

“But you weren’t helping, either.”

“Er,” Kanaya finished.

Silence followed. Vriska was grinning like an axe murderer over your shoulder - you could tell by the way she hardly even breathed - and Karkat was shamefully kicking his foot through the dirt like the freshly scolded toddler he was. Kanaya _almost_ said something like, four times, but instead settled for sighing repeatedly. The Striders- the Lalondes? The Lastriders? There was a catchy amalgam of their names somewhere, but in any case, Dave and Rose were not-so-subtly smacking each other like petulant children. What a pure sibling relationship.

Finally, the British One cleared her throat. “Thank you, Miss…”

“Pyrope. Terezi Pyrope,” You gestured down to the name tag over your heart. Vriska stuck it on you, so it had a 100% chance of being upside down, but you scrawled your name on the thing in the hopes that muscle memory would make it at least partially legible.

Crumpets gathered herself before responding. “Well, Ms. Pyrope, it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Calliope, and I’m from Cabin 6A - I’m the counselor, that is. Somewhat ironically, tonight is all about building bonds between cabins, especially before the rest of the month…” She trailed off, probably worrying at her hands or scrunching up her nose or something equally cutesy.

“Well don’t just leave us hanging like that. What are we, wet laundry? Or should I go get my bro’s sword and start breaking the ice myself?” Dave tossed out, earning himself a huff from Calliope.

“You _should_ not do that, and _could_ not, as Camp Sgrub has a no tolerance policy for weapons, Mr. Strider.” She said, a slight edge to her voice.

“Oh fuck, right. My bad. But hey, lay off on the ‘Mister’s, Calli. I see you, like, everyday, always hangin’ on Rox’ like a fuckin’ koala or so-”

“Anywayswe’regoingtobeplayingtheicebreakgamenow!!”

Vriska shifted next to you and moved to stand up. “I already know most of these losers, so can I, just, kinda - “

She started to crawl away, but suddenly found your hand clamped around her arm like a fucking vice grip. A vice grip is one of those things that you turn the lever to open and close, and it’s probably bolted to a table. It’s made _of_ metal, _for_ metal, and also every other material that needs to be constrained with zero tolerance for wiggling. And if there’s anything that goes just dandily with Vriska Serket, it’s zero tolerance policies.

Needlessly convoluted analogies aside, you yanked Serket back into the extremely dysfunctional circle. “If I’m playing this, you are too, Vriska.”

“Right then,” said Calliope, probably with an unwavering smile. “This icebreaker is for making _friends_. In order to make friends, one has to be _friendly_. Therefore, can everyone please raise their right hand and promise to not be a total arsehole?”

The Counselor had spoken, and so the circle complied. Everyone did as bidden, though you were fairly sure that Dave promised “not to be Karkat Vantas” and Karkat vowed to “not be a raging douche”.

Their solemn vow completed, Calliope stood and began walking from camper to camper. When she got to you, you realized she had been handing out four index cards and a marker to each camper, as evidenced by the four index cards and marker in your hands.

There was a small problem here. “Uh, Calliope? I don’t know if you realized, because I’m so incredibly dextrous, but I’m kind of fucking blind.”

She giggled. “I could tell that, love, but you seem to have written your name just find on your placard there.”

“My what?”

“But if you really need help, I’m sure Ms. Serket could assist you gladly!” As gladly as a vampire would go into sunlight. An actual vampire, not one of those Twilight fuckers that just sparkle.

Calliope clapped her hands together lightly. “Alrighty, so! The game is simple enough - just write down something you enjoy on each index card! Anything at all that makes you happy!”

“What abou- “

“Has to be school appropriate, Mr. Strid- er, Dave.”

“It’s actually Mr. Dave Strider, but good try.”

You imagined Calliope rolling her eyes - green eyes, maybe. She seemed like a green eyes person.

So your little brain chugged and chugged and chugged as you tried to think of four things you enjoyed that you also wouldn’t mind sharing with almost total strangers. You sure as shit weren’t gonna say that you liked playing make believe with dragon plushies, or that your autobiography’s chapter titles would be quotes from _Law and Order_. You settled for listing four of your favorite video games.

After uncapping the marker, you lifted its tip to your nose and got a big ol’ whiff of the thing. “Augh!” You exclaimed, violently jerking your head away from the offensive smell. “These are _definitely_ not Crayola. Are you letting us sully our hands with shitty markers, Calliope?”

You imagined her wincing slightly. Maybe she was offering a consolation smile instead, or maybe she just rolled her maybe-green eyes playfully. “Sorry, it’s what Scratch gave me.”

Vriska was quick to join the quibble. “Scratch can suck my ass!! I bet _he’s_ the one behind these fucking icebreakers, too - we never had to deal with any of this bullshit whe-”

Calliope tutted. She actually, literally, before your very ~~eyes~~ ears, tutted. “Ms. Serket, you’re venturing into dangerous territory.”

When what? What the fuck? Why the tutting, too? If you’re going to interrupt someone while they try to provide some exposition to the fucking setting, the least you could do would be to do it _dramatically_. Just have some flair. You’re not asking for throwing confetti around like it’s a six year old’s birthday party, but _literally anything but tutting_ would’ve sufficiently filled the drama quota. What’s wrong with interjecting, or tsking? Tsking always gets the short end of the stick.

While this semi-meta internal conflict played out in your head for the purpose of making it seem as if time had passed, time had passed and your cohorts had finished writing. 

The Lead Breaker of The Ice / Haver of Epithets stood and once more paced from camper to camper. When she passed in front of you, you reached out your hands and felt felt. No, not a typo, you felt felt. As in, a comically large felt hat. You rattled the hat around a little bit, hearing the _shhrr shhrrr_ of rustling paper inside.

Getting the jist of it, you stuck your index cards in with the rest and hoped that they would be legible enough to read. As Calliope returned to the center of the circle, she shook the hat vigorously. 

“Now, if you’d all stand up, please,” asked Calliope, accompanied by groans from the peanut gallery. “I’ll read the cards, and if you also like the thing, come stand-”

She moved over a few feet and pounded a tree a couple of times. “Here.” It was nice when people remembered that being blind still meant you could hear shit.

“And if you _don’t_ like whatever it was, come over here.” The “don’t like” location was conveniently where you already were. Hopefully you didn’t share interests with anyone and could spend the next fifteen minutes as still as a statue. On the other hand, wouldn’t it be wonderful for the beginnings of a meaningful relationship to be founded during that very night? You were sure the entire setting was romantic as hell - the trees likely looked ethereal in the light of the dying bonfire, the ghosts of flames dancing across leaves like mice over the moss and peat beneath your feat. Crickets chirped into the night, playing their serenade to a moon that hung like a beaded drop of silver overhead, ready to fall with her sister stars at any moment. The bonds forged during such a night would be of twisted vines and falling stars; it’d be a connection spun together by the Fates themselves. Fat chance of any of that rom com bullshit happening with this wad of dickholes, though.

“Would you like to go first, Dave?”

“Why not,” said Strider, hoodie shifting as he took a card from the hat like an extremely disinterested magician. He hesitated before speaking (likely glancing it over), then began reading in a high, mocking voice. “ _My interests include, but are not limited to, literature and other mediums of storytelling, especially those in which two individuals identifying as femal-_ Christ almighty, Rose, just say that you’re fucking gay. We don’t need a goddamn novella, shit.”

There was some crunching of leaves, your cohorts were moving, yada yada. Turns out that all of you liked stories involving lesbians. I’m sure that everyone was shocked and appalled at this stunning revelation.

I’ll cut y’all some slack and dig straight on down to the shit you really care about. Everyone reading this knows that Rose and Kanaya’s interests are each other, gardening, the occult, whatever. Vriska’s a fucking nerd, but the especially weird kind that likes Dungeons and Dragons Fourth Edition (which is objectively _the worst_ edition, fight me). Dave wrote just as much as Rose on his notecards but by the third sentence his handwriting is illegible and he started ranting about socialism and the lizard people running our society. Everyone knows this. Who gives a shit. But _Jesus Christ_ , what in the fuck is going on with Karkat and Terezi? Do they both like _The Cab_? Does their shared interest in yelling at their friends pull them together like one of those tiny circular magnets that are strong as _fuck_ and you can never get them off whatever you stick them on? Will they continue to dance around each other with all the grace of a concussed elephant on a pogostick? Or was all that poetic waxing about the setting a prelude to some genuine, actual romance? Because so far this shit is only 5% rom and 95% com. Turns out digging straight on down to the shit you really care about was actually an extremely blatant wordcount bolster. Whatever. I’m shameless. Did you, the reader, laugh reading this paragraph? Did you, the reader, chuckle? A slight smile, mayhap? Then it was worth it. By God, it was worth it.

When everyone finished staring into space and scratching their asses while the author did whatever that was, you realized that Calliope had said “There are six cards saying something about ‘Dragon Age’, so if you enjoy that, head on over!” at some point during the previous shameless abuse of power.

Fortunately you were already on the “Hell Fucking Yes” side. As others moved back to the “No” area, you listened carefully and counted two people who also liked Dragon Age. Sick! Time to make some fucking friends! Did they make the same choices? Who did they romance? _Did they kill Anders?_

You whirled to the left and patted a shoulder on the first try. “Who’s this?”

“...Kanaya,” she replied, still wary after the verbal smackdown you performed earlier. Kanaya. You could be friends with Kanaya. Yeah! Now, for the other one -

A 180 degree spin, and you grabbed a handful of thigh.

“Terezi what the **hel** -”

Definitely Karkat. You squeezed. He _squeaked_.

_That wasn’t thigh._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (oo la la, amirite?)
> 
> hey all. sorry for the extremely and needlessly long wait for an update. i was planning on updating sunday, but with everything that happened i really wasn't feeling up to it.
> 
> on a happier note, hey! it's been, like a year of /campy/! holy fuck, right? you'd think that after a year Karkat and Terezi would've actually, like had a real conversation! ha! ha! what a foolish notion! we're at like 13k+ words and jack shit has happened! fucking incredible! welcome to hell!
> 
> anyways, i just wanted to say a big massive thank you to everyone reading this fic. homestuck is over and done, but we're still chugging. thanks for taking the time to read /campy/. i hope it makes you at least smile.
> 
> well thats enough sappy shit for the next mmmmmonth see yall later time to work on the dungeons and dragons session i've had a month to work on havent started we're playing in two days does this sound familiar im dying squirtle

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, thanks for reading! :D This is my first "serious" fan fic, so I'd really appreciate any feedback. Too much thinking? Not enough weird similes? Unnecessary swearing? These are all things that I am truly desperate to know. I'll stop typing now.


End file.
